The Tales of a Raggle Taggle Gypsy
by mypiratecat1
Summary: A collection of stories of Captain Jack Sparrow and his Irish lady love, Janie O'Madden, during their youth; a young raggle taggle gypsy and his lass, making and losing friends, and finding a song to call their own as they make their way through life.
1. Prologue

۞

_**Disclaimer:** The canon Pirates characters in this story are not mine, but the original characters are. I can't make any money with them, but ohhhh, can I have fun with them! :)_

_**Author's note and dedication: **__I have not written on the website for most of the winter… after finishing "The Pirate Lass of Connemara, Books I & II", I needed a break. _

_I'm back, with inspiration to fill in some of the blanks that were left in Captain Jack Sparrow's story, "The Other Side of the Island". It would be helpful if the readers would peruse those two stories for some of the details that might be spoken of in this collection... I will also refer to some of my one shots, here and there. _

_I wish to dedicate this collection of memories to all of my faithful readers, all of whom I hope haven't abandoned me during my long winter's nap... and especially to my dear friend, love2write, a fine fan fiction author in her own right, who has been my muse by keeping my writing in focus and in fun during our Cat Mara Writing Workshops! Go raibh math agat, lass. _

_This collection of tales will be random in nature, as our Jack's Locker addled thoughts wander in and out of the places and people who shape a legend… at least a legend in his own fractured mind._

_I will visit many places of Jack's past, and his ol__dest friend and lady love, Janie O'Madden, will be at his side or upon his mind, with guest appearances by many of the Pirates characters that we all love… so pull up a chair with a tankard of rum, and let me spin a yarn or two about a young man who was not always a pirate captain… but was once merely a raggle taggle gypsy of Irish heritage, who ran off to the freedom of the sea, after he almost lost his life, twice, to the despicable institution of slavery… _

_And lastly, "Raggle Taggle Gypsy" is a traditional song of Ireland that is one of my favorites. I suggest the version recorded by the Chieftains with Nickel Creek._

_Now... on with our story. Pirate Cat_

TALES OF A RAGGLE TAGGLE GYPSY

۞

The evening air was heavy with the smell of peat fires... and the sea could be heard, beating against the rocky cliffs of Moher in the distance, as the sun dipped low over the western horizon... shades of pink and deep gold rested upon the surface of the sea, and sea birds were dipping about as the sunlight began to fade into twilight... the soft, warm Irish wind was playing among the treetops, as if it were wishing to join those who were gathering in the tiny village, nestled in the moss covered hills that rolled along the craggy coastline.

The band at this particular public house in County Clare was striking up yet another merry tune, and the revelers had plenty of reason to celebrate upon this night. It was March 17, 2009, Saint Patrick's Day, and it was wee Magdalena Jane O'Madden-Sparrow's very first birthday!

Meg O'Shaughnessy Gibbs had pulled out all of the stops, and her finest pub grub was available for all to partake in, and the finest of the alcoholic libations were at hand at Joshamee Gibbs' ornate Victorian bar, with everything on the house for this celebration of life… even if it was suspected all up and down the coast of Western Ireland that those who were gathered upon this night were more than mere descendants of the pirates made famous by their exploits in motion pictures from a studio helmed by a mouse in red shorts.

All who lived in the villages that dotted the wild, craggy, windswept coastline had seen too much in Ireland's untamed and sometimes bloody history to ponder too heavily upon the rumours that the family that ran the Black Pearl Dinner Cruises out of Clifden were, in fact, the real Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew, enchanted by those mysterious things that can only be imagined and wondered about. And all who lived in this place strove to protect this odd family of 21st century pirates, just as Ireland had quietly protected pirates and their rebellious ilk for centuries.

The small guest of honour upon this evening was a tiny, winsome little thing, with dark, caramel coloured skin and high cheekbones, sparkling eyes and a ready, giggling smile… she had just learned to walk, and had been bobbing up and down to the music provided by the traditional band of local lads, who were playing ancient songs sung in Irish Gaelic, and some in English, in deference to those who did not speak the language that still defiantly refused to die in this part of Eire.

Little Maggie laughed and clapped her hands, her bright copper curls pulled up into a pigtail, bouncing with life as she "danced" with everyone in her green and pink flowered dress… she was truly a blessing, this child, and a delightful combination of a man who watched proudly as his daughter – the very image of himself – made his weaselly black heart (in his own words) utterly melt with every sparkle of her chocolate brown eyes, and his lady love, the tall, auburn haired woman on his arm… she of freckled, plain face and bright ocean blue eyes.

His Janie… his beautiful Janie…one who had crawled through a fence of her affluent father's widespread County Galway estate and scampered happily through the woods beyond…and had discovered a tiny cottage, and the beautiful young gypsy woman who lived there…

His exotic mother, Magdalena Sparrow, who fell in love with a pirate captain from Dublin named Edward Jonathan Teague… a woman who would set both of them forward on a long, convoluted path through life… the independent young Janie O'Madden, and her raggle taggle gypsy… who would later be known as the legendary pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow…

۞

"Come on, Janie, join me! Let's dance! It's yours and Jack's song!" Elizabeth Swann Turner was now pulling Janie to her feet, her own hazel eyes dancing as Jacey Sullivan and his cousins were beginning to strike up their instruments, shouting, "Aye, Janie! Sing to the Captain, like ye always do!"

Elizabeth's petite hands were grasping Janie's broad, freckled one, as Janie blushed and giggled, getting to her feet, looking over her shoulder into the dark face of the man that she had loved since she was five years old, and he was a little laddie of only three…

He grinned up at her, his dark incredible cheekbones rounding out like apples, his golden teeth shining, as the handsome, tall, muscled young man who was sitting next to him smiled and winked at the ladies… Jack and his young half-cousin, William Turner the Second, were as close as brothers since they first met back in the truly old days, taking a while to warm up to each other as they traveled to the pirate haven of Tortuga upon a commandeered Navy brig, but inseparable once the dark times At World's End had been put behind them, sailing away with the Flying Dutchman but a memory.

William had been freed of his service to the ghost ship, thanks to the slight, slender man sitting next to him… an odd man who was mildly mad and very pleasantly addled. It was after the events of World's End that they had found out that they were cousins by way of a shared paternal grandmother, and it was during the times after that they they found out just exactly how alike they were. William became Jack's first mate, and together, they had managed to survive into the 21st century, with the help of the magical Agua de Vida, hidden away in the Connemara mountains…

William leaned over and nudged a fresh tankard of rum toward his companion, and Jack glanced at him with a smirk, as he pulled his wee daughter into his lap… "So Jack… just how is it that this song became one that is so similar to what really happened to you and Janie?"

The captain leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet up on the table, as the music began in earnest… his waist long, trinketed braids and the long, trailing tails of his red bandanna were flipped over a shoulder, and Jack took a deep, long pull from his tankard, as Janie began to sing along with Jacey's fiddle…

_"There were three bold gypsies came to our hall door  
They came brave and boldly-o  
One sang high and the other sang low  
And the other sang the raggle taggle gypsy-o..._  
_  
It was upstairs, downstairs the lady went,  
put on her suit of leather, oh  
and there was a cry from around the door  
she's away with the raggle taggle gypsy, oh..._

_It was late that night that the lord came in  
inquiring for his lady, oh  
and the servant girl she says to the lord,  
she's away with the raggle taggle gypsy, oh..._

_Well, saddle for me my milk white steed,  
my big horse is not speedy, oh,  
I'm a-ride, I'm a-seek my bride,  
she's away with the raggle taggle gypsy, oh.._

_Well he rode he east, and he rode west,  
he rode north and south or so,  
until he came to a wide open field  
it was there that he spotted his lady, oh..._

_Tell me, how could you leave your goose feather bed,  
your blankets strewn so comely, oh  
how could leave, you've nowhere to go,  
all for the raggle taggle gypsy, oh_

_Well what do I care for my goose feather bed  
for my blankets strewn comely, oh,  
tonight I lie in the wide open field  
in the arms of a raggle taggle gypsy, oh..._

_Tell me, how could you leave your house and your land,  
how could you leave your money, oh  
how could leave your own good lord  
all for that raggle taggle gypsy, oh..._

_Well what do I care for my house and my land  
and what do I care for money, oh..  
I'd rather have a kiss from the yellow gypsy lips  
I'm away with the raggle taggle gypsy, oh!"_

_S_itting shoulder to shoulder with his best friend and first mate of nearly three centuries, the Captain closed his brown eyes, halfway, as he watched his lass' long, thick auburn braid trail down her back, tied at the bottom with a black velvet bow, swaying to and fro the beat of the bodhran drum, and he then looked down at the beautiful little curly haired girl that he was bouncing in his lap... by all unwritten laws of blood and heritage, a wee little lass of Romany blood, just like her papa....

Glancing over at William from the corners of his eyes, he said nothing for a moment, as William grinned at him, expectantly, "Well, William, th' story is very much like Janie's an' me own story, because it _is_ Janie's an' me own story...."

Janie's eyes met his, and it was like a lightning bolt passed between them for the defiance in her voice, as she and her Jackie both sang the last line of the song, together...

_"...I'm away with the raggle taggle gypsy, oh!..."_

_To be continued.....  
_


	2. His Own

۞

Tiny little rivulets of dust curled up around the toes of his sea boots as the lad trudged westward out of Dublin. Dust, he thought to himself, that was a rarity in this land, and he pondered to himself of how long it had been since County Cork had seen rain.

He was tired… his sea bag was slung across his narrow, bony shoulder, not yet filled out for a young man of fifteen years, who was a man, nonetheless. Scarred, already, aye, with a shameful reminder of the brutality of the world with one hard backhand across the face when he was only six years old, splitting open his right eyebrow as he was spirited away in the night, suddenly motherless.

He had watched his dark skinned Roma mother die of fever, and their hated landlord had set fire to their cottage and had hauled screaming Jack Sparrow off, roughly, and sold him away at the slave auction in the port of An Clochán, only for the money that could be made from selling the land that their tiny home occupied... never mind that Maggie Sparrow had always paid her rent on time, only wishing to live, quietly with her pirate borne son... it was an idyllic life, up to that point, with an occasional message from his father, and almost daily visits from the wee little girl who was his only playmate.

Jack sat down on a rough hewn stone fence at the side of this small road, which wound its way through the hills and glens of his homeland… a homeland whose Irish Gaelic language was the only one that he knew at that point of his sudden and terrifying departure, along with some of his mother's own gypsy Romani. His stilted, odd English was learned at sea, and always the source of amusement for Bill Turner.

Jack mopped his face with the tails of his red bandanna, already holding back a mane of unruly, coiling, braided black hair. Bill, he thought… and he felt his heart turn hard in his chest for the embarrassing incident that had taken place as he and Bill had just made port in England. Bootstrap Bill was Jack's closest friend, except for his auburn haired lassie in Connemara, and it was toward her that his exhausted feet had been walking for days because of what had happened… Janie…

Bill had more or less turned him out on his own, only days before, at the request of Bill's shrewish wife, Mary - at least she was shrewish in Jack's eyes. Not even a crust of bread to tide him along his way, and the one who had seemed to be the saddest at the raggle taggle young gypsy's departure was three year old Will Turner.

Jack chuckled to himself, bitterly, as the child's upturned face re-entered his mind for only the hundredth time since he left Bill's house… neglected, that child was, as his parents argued over his own presence and Mary's desire to get rid of Jack as soon as could be managed, in spite of Bill's argument.

Jack had spent the afternoon playing with the boy, only to be shamefully admonished in front of the neighbors, for straying too far by taking Will down to the docks, only a shout away, to see the ships coming to and fro…

The young Will was a nice little whelp, Jack thought to himself… Mary wouldn't want him to be seen playing with a scarecrow like himself… short of stature, and as slender as a reed, with a pathetic mustache and large, soulful brown eyes that were much too large for his face…eyes that were too soft for his rough life as a sailor. He'd have to do something about that, he thought, randomly.

Slowly, he got to his feet, and began to trudge, again. The sooner he would make it to County Galway, the sooner he could spend time with his Janie. She would always find fun, and he loved her dearly, though they were remiss to tell each other that… they simply knew it, and it was not necessary to say it.

Brightening a bit at thinking of her and of Connemara, he began to look westward and toward the sun setting in the skies, over the mountains of Western Eire, in the distance… he was still a good day's walk away, and he had better find a place to bed down before nightfall…

And hopefully, something to eat. He was already thin enough, and had been without a hot meal for days… his stomach growled, not altogether amiably, and he winced.

Suddenly, it was almost as if a miracle had happened, and he knew that he did not deserve miracles! What was that aroma that was wafting its way around his nostrils? Ahhhh! Could it be?

He stopped in his tracks, and looked all about, inhaling and savoring the fragrances that played with his nose and his gnawing, noisy stomach… yes, it was!

His mouth watered, and he tried to detect from whence this lovely, enticing aroma came, and his nose led him to the shadows of the deep and darkening woods that were to his starboard side… ahhhh, Jack grinned to himself, as he stealthily made his way into those shadows…

For he was made of shadows, he knew, dark of skin and black of hair, and his beloved mother had taught him all about hiding in the woods… just as she had prepared those things which his nose was following like one of the King's hounds, right now!

Lamb stew… and his favourite dish in the world and across the Seven Seas which he had already traveled … gypsy cabbage rolls!

۞

"So, young Master Sparrow," the elder of the tribe addressed this skinny, lanky youngster, as the boy sat up straight and proud at being addressed in such a manner, "Where are ye bound, son?"

Jack looked up at the portly fellow, dressed in a deep blue brocade waistcoat that Jack found himself coveting deeply, feeling rather dowdy in his frayed sailor's rags. "I'm headed fer me home o' Connemara… I have a friend there wot I want t' see …"

His face reddened, when Nicholas laughed, "A young lady, then?"

Jack's reaction answered that question, as Nicholas' wife, Soibhan, took his emptying tin plate from his slender hands and shoved yet another one into them…. He nodded his thanks, and was 'you're welcomed' with a toothy grin… she was a homely one, but it was quite obvious that Nicholas loved her very much… odd, Jack thought, his Janie thought of herself as dreadfully plain, but Jack thought of her as the most beautiful, natural girl in the world.

The other members of the tribe were sitting around the main campfire, eyeing his newcomer, curiously.

He had approached them with great caution, hardly a threat from the look of him, and half starved. Nicholas knew, straight off, simply by the boy's dark physical appearance and from the pattern of the red bandanna that he wore that he was one of them… a Roma… and Jack had greeted them with a few words of Romani, which had passed over his tongue rarely since Mama had died.

"Aye, me friend is a lassie, " Jack admitted, shoving another mouth full of stew in, as they had all wondered how a boy his age already had two silver teeth on the bottom. He did not offer much about himself. "Janie Ó Madáin is 'er name, an' I've known her for all o' me life!"

A rumble went through the crowd that was gathered, and Jack looked up from his plate to take in this interesting reaction to the mention of Janie's name… the rumble silenced as Nicholas glanced at his family, and the crackling of the peat fire was the only sound that was heard, as sparks flew upward into the nighttime skies, dancing through the treetops over their heads….

"Ahhh, so you need a place to spend the night, young Jack Sparrow. You are welcome to stay with us, if you'd like. We've plenty of food, and we can string a hammock for you near the fire, to warm ye. We are always proud to take in one of our own, and proud to serve the son of Magdalena Sparrow…"

Jack looked up, genuinely puzzled by this statement, as Soibhan refilled his tankard of ale at the small barrel that was attached to the side of the beautiful, colorful wagon that was hers and Nicholas' home. She said, over her shoulder, "Nicholas is right, Master Sparrow. Your mother is a legend among Irish gypsy tribes, for she was ahead of her time… and independent woman who was as free as the wind, singing and dancing in our own way, making her way in the gadjo world. Now and again, we hear of her man, the great Captain Edward Jonathan Teague, and Maggie, herself, is said to be the spirit of Irish wind. Did ye not know that, young Jack?"

Jack shrugged, and said, "I've no idea if my father is great or not, nor do I know anyfing o' me mama bein' a spirit o' th' wind… although most times, th' wind is me friend, so p'raps there is some truth t' it… makes fer a pretty story, though."

He grinned at his hosts, making the young ladies in the group giggle and hide behind their hands, "Aye, makes fer a pretty story, an' I likes pretty stories, and pretty things."

He winked at them all, and genially chuckled as he devoured his fourth cabbage roll, dipped in light vinegar… he closed his eyes, savoring every bite… and savouring the admiring looks that he was recieving in spite of his shabby clothing... oh, to have nicer things to wear, he found himself wishing, fervently... and a bath....

Nicholas leaned back in his seat, and pondered the twilight skies above them, with its myriad of twinkling stars. He lit his pipe, and his dark eyes regarded this man-child before him… Jack Sparrow… so he did exist. A young man who was whisked away into slavery, only to be rescued by his father, and turned loose upon an unsuspecting world, already a mystery among his own people.

It was an honour to have this boy among them, he thought, as he would one day make gypsies proud, Nicholas knew... somehow, this one was already showing signs of becoming much more than met the eye.

Jack also sat back in his chair, now patting his belly and belching a bit, and not softly. He was picking at a tooth with a fingernail, but it was obvious that the boy was a nail biter and had not much to work with. Nicholas reached over and unhooked a curious object from his belt, and handed to the lad.

"Here ye go."

Jack stared at it for a moment… it was an odd thing, to be sure, as Nicholas puffed upon his pipe, and explained, "I use it to pick locks, but it also serves well in other purposes… rinse if off with your ale, if you will, and use it as a toothpick!"

He chuckled, as Jack was now admiring this object, long and creamy white, tied to a leather thong… he dangled it in front of his face, in the firelight, and began to laugh, himself.

"Tha's interesting'…" Looking sideways at his host, as the others began to disperse to their own accommodations, Jack queried, "Jus' wot might it be, if I may be so bold t' ask?"

"Shinbone of a goat…. But it might be something that you could spin a yarn about, being a young sailor and proving, this evening, that you have a gift of gab!" Nicholas chuckled, the corners of his thick mustache curling up in a grin.

Jack dangled this rather macabre and dangerous looking sharp object about, and then laughed, "Well, fer one fing, I'm not gonna tell me mates or me lassie tha' it's th' shinbone of a bloody goat!"

He tapped his barely whiskered chin with this trinket, and narrowed his eyes… "A reindeer! Tha's it. It's th' shinbone of a reindeer, an' I got it when I was trekkin' across Greenland in search o' another ship t' sail t' Imperial Russia! Tha's th' story I'll tell…"

Nicholas threw back his head and laughed, "That sounds better than what it really is… a goat shinbone, given to you so that you could pick your teeth, from a gypsy camped in the shadow of Blarney Castle."

Jack smiled, and pulled some of his long hair into a small pigtail on the right side of his head… it dangled over his red bandanna, and even without seeing it, he knew it looked rather dashing. "I dunno, Nick. That sounds like a good story as well, but I like mine much more better, aye?"

"Now… " Jack leaned with his elbows upon his knees, becoming uncustomary serious, "Tell me this… why was there a murmurin' among th' others when I mentioned Janie's name… do ye know her?"

Nicholas blew a smoke ring… and then another… and then another, as he regarded Jack with hooded black eyes… the firelight danced over the circled wagons, and made strange shadows on the trees and the foliage that edged the glen around them…

Jack shuddered a little, like as if he felt that the very eyes of the forest were watching them, as Nicholas said, quietly, "We just came from the Connemara area, boy… it seems that your friend is in a very sad situation.'

'Her own father has sold her into marriage to his money lender… Janie is entering into a slavery of sorts. Thomas Ó Madáin owes money to everyone in Galway, and he wants to be rid of his own daughter. She is to marry old Sean O'Hennessey, the most hated man on the western coast…and the meanest, from what we've heard… he already has a woman in County Clare with whom he's fathered a daughter, and its well known that he beats her to within an inch of her life…"

Jack's dark eyes grew as hard and as black as flint, and he suddenly felt that scar over his right eye burning… Thomas Ó Madáin certainly had a need to be rid of what he felt was in his way… and he certainly had a penchant for selling souls into slavery….

"I'll be leaving out at dawn, Nicholas… I believe I'll take advantage o' th' hammock tha' ye offered, for I'll be making Connemara by sundown, tomorrow…"

And as he laid in his kip and watched the campfire, Jack Sparrow did not know which was stronger… his love for his lassie, his hate for her father, or his gratitude for those that he knew that he would always trust… even if he spent what he thought were only the fringes of his life among them…his own.

He looked around the gypsy camp, as he closed his eyes, as he felt the "reindeer shinbone" tap, pleasantly, against the small string of beads that dangled over his forehead…a string of beads that marked him as a so-called "pirate lord", he thought… a title bequeathed by a dead friend of his estranged father, and a title that Jack was certain that he did not want… but he liked the beads, nonetheless….

Sleep came to him, eventually, as he was exhausted and full of good food… and full of dread for what he would find when he reached County Galway….

_To be continued…._


	3. Pass Me Along

۞

Meg O'Shaughnessy looked out of the window of the tiny boarding house, into the dull daylight that was filtering through the low clouds that were blowing in off of the equally dull Atlantic upon this morning… She sipped her tea and frowned, pushing a bright red lock of hair back up under her lace cap, feeling much older and much dowdier than her almost 30 years…she sighed, hearing the mantle clock's wee pendulum ticking rhythmically... ticking, ticking, ticking away the seconds of her still painfully fresh widowhood...

It was on days like this that she missed her Patrick the most… ah, Patrick! Even the thought of him turned her heart painfully, as she tried not to think of his death, but of his life. She smiled a little, as he was a short little firebrand, full of blarney and bravado, dark of hair and as wiry as he could be, belying his thin build, and he would frown at her and chuck her under the chin if he were to see her being so glum upon these mornings.

He had his own small ship, aye, as light on the waves and as fleet as he was, the bonnie_ Donegal_, built up in Belfast, and so proud was he! He'd avoided telling her just how he had obtained this fine small clipper on his meager wages, and she had just assumed that he had won her in a night of gambling in County Down, but she had learned otherwise later on.

She sighed, and wiped her eyes, stubbornly fighting a lump in her throat as the vision of his death filled her unwilling mind, once again… she felt a flush rise up from her basque and she hurried over to pour another cup of tea, only to put the tea pot down with a harshness that made the lid jingle a little, and she reached into the pantry for a small dram of whiskey.

Pat had obtained his ship, the poor man, with grand hopes to make life better, too soon, for himself and his bride… oh, how Meg wished that he'd been more patient, for she had no desire for riches, and would have waited a lifetime for the comforts that he wanted to provide for her too quickly. She felt the tiny amount of whiskey burn as it went down, and she pressed her fingers against her lips, as she tried to fight back the memory of fighting for her own life on a piece of the Donegal's wreckage, and she watched, in horror, as her beloved was dragged to the depths for not paying upon a debt owed…

Dragged to the depths by the tentacles of a beast like she had never seen before, and hoped to never see again, for she had seen, with her own blue eyes, the Kraken….

All that she had left of her darling Pat was hanging upon a peg by the door, and she had only been able to fish it out of the waters in despair, as she had waited for rescue upon a tiny spit of land in the boiling, unforgiving seas off of the coast of Scotland… the land that had bourne the one who had become a legend of terror upon the ghostly Flying Dutchman, and who had seemed to throw this small memento at her with scorn.

It hung forlornly, waiting for an owner, and every day Meg would touch it, gently, thinking to herself, "Oh, Pat, if ye'd only thought twice about dealing with Davy Jones…"

As the morning went on, she tried to cheer herself by baking, for she had no boarders for a week or so… it was the high season for sailors to be out plying their various trades, honest or dishonest…. It was time for fishermen to be casting their nets and bringing in oysters, cod and the like before colder weather made for harsher days on the water.

So Meg was just a bit more than startled as she caught movement out of the corner eye, and she stopped what she was doing in order to squint out into the mists and toward the tiny barn that had once housed a pony for her cart… the barn door was ajar, she saw, and she was startled to see that barn door close! Intruders!

She felt her morose feelings melt away like butter, to be replaced by indignence, as she looked around for something that she might use as a weapon… she was accustomed to living alone, as Pat had been a sea man and had been away more than he had been present, and she finally laid eyes upon his old flintlock pistol that was laying upon the mantle.

Meg could hit a target dead center if she did not have to shoot very far, she knew, and she took it in hand and quietly slipped outside to send whoever was upon their way, the very picture of a fluttering little hen defending her nest.

Standing outside of the barn door, pressing herself up against the rough boards, she listened for voices, and suddenly, she felt her anger settle itself down a bit, as she was surprised…no, shocked, in all truth… for she heard the sound of a young lass, weeping, and the soft comforting of a husky voice as he made sweet attempts to make the weeping cease…

Finally, Meg took a deep breath, and absurdly knocked upon her own barn door.

۞

The rain stopped, and Meg was feeling much comfort of her own as she laid bowls of hearty, chunky lamb stew in front of the young ones that had sought shelter in her stable, and she handed a handkerchief over to the one who was red faced and red eyed with her sorrows…

Sixteen year old Mary Jane Ó Madáin was tall, by most standards, and was not a beauty by those same standards. She was plain of face, but with bright ocean blue eyes made bluer by their sad expression, and that plain face was as freckled as her companion's face was as dark as mahogany… she sat straight and proud at Meg's table, but her shoulders slumped in such a fashion that Meg felt such pity for her as to pull up a chair next to her and put an arm around her.

"So, Miss Ó Madáin, even down here in County Clare we have had dealings with that horrid man that your father has pretty much sold ye to, then… when is this so-called wedding to take place, dearest?"

"Saturday," was the girl's short reply, lest she should burst into tears once again… something that would completely vex the slight young man who was sitting next to her upon her other side, holding her hand and patting it, trying to get her to eat by spooning up stew to her, lovingly, his huge brown eyes glowing in the light that was coming from the warm peat fire in the fireplace.

Meg admired Mary Jane's companion, and she could tell directly that he was one who had been upon his own for some time… Jack Sparrow was small for his age, and would probably never be as large as he'd like others to think, weaving word spells in order to make himself a bit larger in the eyes of those who observed him. Already, that was obvious to her!

He was as dark as molasses, with wild black hair tied back with a deep scarlet bandanna, and his angular, handsome face had the pathetic start of whiskers upon his chin, but he had already a fine black mustache. Meg smiled at him as he whispered words that only young Mary Jane could hear, and she smiled a little as he made a face at her and crossed those two large eyes, comically…

"I'm tryin' t' convince me Janie t' run away wif me… she mustn't marry tha' bastard… ooo, sorry… I mean tha' ne'er do well wot would be nuffin' but trouble t' her, I'll grant," he was saying, and Meg struggled a little to understand the boy's skewered English. He frowned at her for a moment, and then repeated it in Irish Gaelic.

Meg found herself laughing at him a little, as he drew himself up, defensively, and drew Janie toward him, as she, also, giggled at this small bantam rooster disguised as teenaged boy, "I know tha' me English isn't 'zactly perfeck, but me Irish is, and now is no time t' be splittin' hairs over splittin' infinitives whilst my lassie is so troubled!" He offered up another spoonful of stew to Janie, and she took it, as the clouds began to lift a little, and she fondly said, "Jack, ye'd do well to be eating some of this yourself."

Meg happily got up and fetched a plate of bread and a crock of butter, and she poured hot tea, not at all surprised when Jack shook his head a little and looked about, hopefully for something a bit stronger.

"Well, you two, ye went through a great deal of trouble to make your way all the way down to these parts from County Galway!" Meg noted that the pair did not say how they came such a distance with the lass seemingly so distraught, and she also noted, with amusement that they exchanged a look… one that was a bit guilty from Janie, and one that was wickedly proud from Jack. It was plain that they had not come down by foot….

Janie wiped away more tears, and she said, "We shan't be staying, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy… we can't trouble you…" her voice trailed off, as if she did not know what they were going to do, and Meg noticed even more obviously the look in this young couple's eyes as they gazed at each other.

She silently cursed, suddenly, and she set her jaw as she tried to hide such by sipping her tea… Damn the social classes, she thought, for taking this young auburn haired, freckle faced girl to settle a financial debt! And damn the social classes for looking down upon this handsome young man for the colour of his skin, for it was obvious that he had an interesting ethic heritage, to be certain, and the two of them made for a wonderful rainbow, together, in Meg's eyes.

As she got up to ladle more stew into their bowls, she knew that she could not help Jack and Janie escape the fate that was waiting at the alter of Saint Patrick's, up in Galway, but she could help them to sort things out, and to perhaps seal a fate of another kind… she saw Janie's stocky fingers intertwine with Jack's long, slender ones, and the look in their eyes…

And she knew that there would be a young couple sleeping together in her loft tonight, and she would make certain that there would be warm blankets, soft pillows, and a bottle of sweet wine… Janie's hateful, miserly father could "sell" her to the most hated man in Western Eire, that monster money lender, Sean O'Hennessey, but he could not control her heart, her feelings for her gypsy lad or what they would sweetly give to each other in the soft darkness of a barn in County Clare… no, Sean O'Hennessey would not have that from his sorrowful purchased bride, Meg swore…

That much was still in their own hands, and Meg would make certain that these two would be in each other's loving arms, away from the eyes of the world, tonight….

"Well, how about we clean ourselves up a bit, and go down to the public house for a while?" Meg offered, brightly, "There will be music, this evening, and it might brighten up our spirits, then? I could use it, and so could you!"

Jack and Janie looked up, with hopeful smiles, as Janie replied, "Oh, I'd like that!" Looking over at Jack, he winked and chuckled, "I'm no one's idea of a dancer, but … "he raised a finger and grinned, "… but we can imagine we're dancing' at our own weddin', aye?"

"Wedding!" Janie snorted, sarcastically, "You and I will never marry, ye scamp! I've known ye much too long, and I'll not be having ye as a husband, now or ever!" She giggled and blushed behind her handkerchief and Jack's large eyes sparkled as he slipped an arm around her waist…

Meg turned the other way, with a smile of her own, as these two were pulling themselves out of their despair as best as they could, and she knew that she could only try to help them to make sense of their rough world, by providing them with some quiet and some pleasant distraction... she could not help but wish that someone had done the same for her when she suffered such loss in such a way that she had, but she found these two to be easing her spirits and making her look toward a future, perhaps, and she felt her heart begin to lighten!

As they readied themselves to walk down the wet dirt lane to lighten their spirits at the Mullane's pub, down by the village's small dockside area, Meg took a look at the leather tricorn hat that had been her beloved Pat's… it was as if it were beckoning her to look up and as if it were whispering, "Give me life, again, Meg… I cannot remain in this quiet place of repose, for I am too full of life… pass me along… renew my pride…."

And she lifted the brown hat from its peg, and waited for the proud young sailor, who was now swaggering toward her with his rosy cheeked lass upon his arm…

Ahhh, Meg thought, a tiny bit of history would be made upon this night… changes would be at hand, and with this hat being passed along from her brave husband to this handsome boy who was making his own way in life and who reminded her so much of her beloved Patrick, they would all try to change things in their own small corner of this weary old world, and would shake their fists at the Fates for trying to take control them…

For none of them… Meg O'Shaughnessy, Mary Jane "Janie" Ó Madáin, or Jack Sparrow, would ever be completely controlled… ever..

_To be continued…._


	4. Sweetness of Another Kind

۞

Bootstrap Bill Turner had been watching his dark, small companion for weeks, with a great deal of concern for the young man's lingering dark mood. He had known Jack Sparrow for quite some time, now, and the younger man had not been given to such somberness, even in those times of illness or times that he had been designated the harder physical tasks if a captain took it into his head that Jack was a lesser person for obviously being "of colour".

As Bill observed his friend's back, as he morosely swapped the forecastle deck boards with a mop and bucket, his long black hair swaying to and fro with the motion of the mop in his slender hands, Bill saw that the movement was almost automatic… the boy's thoughts were yet still back in Ireland, Bill knew. Jack had never made anyone privy to his own racial heritage, nor did anyone expect him to, but it was known among the crew of this particular ship that the lad spoke Gaelic over his skewered and oddly pronounced English, and he spoke in his native language quite often, as he talked to himself, more and more, these days.

Finally, as Jack wearily picked up the bucket and tossed its contents overboard, Bill approached him, as casually as he could, finally coming up to the boy's own port side as he stared out over the horizon, with pain in his dark eyes as he seemed completely unaware of Bill's presence. He leaned on the mop, heavily, lost in thought.

Bill tapped out his pipe on the railing, and Jack jumped a little, his eyes almost comically wide as he looked up at the taller man, who was now leaning an arm on some of the schooner's taut rigging . "So, Jack… ye've hardly said a word since you and I hooked back up in Dublin… what's eatin' at ye, boy? Its not like you to be so down in th' mouth, an' less like ye to not smile."

Jack shrugged a little, and said, "Nuffin's wrong…" Bill frowned slightly and tamped fresh tobacco into the bowl of the clay pipe, and Jack finally owned up a bit, his high, angular cheekbones colouring up and his lower lip protruding a bit, as he admitted, "Nuffin' that I can stop, Bill… That wot's eatin' at me is out of my hands…"

Turning to face Bill, the older man was startled at the pain that was in the young sailor's expression… Jack, even at only sixteen years old, had become a master at hiding his true intent from his visage, more out of self protection than deviousness, and he said, "She's marryin' anovver man! She's been 'sold' into it by her father, Bill! I tried t' get her t' run away wif me, but I haven't got anything t' offer."

Jack's shoulders sagged as he finally leaned against the railing and hung his head… an action that Bill had never seen from this proud one, and something that definitely concerned him… so that was it, Bill thought. Jack had a girl back home, and she was being married off… no wonder the boy was heartsick for having what most sailors had to offer a young lady they care about… nothing… nothing but love, and that didn't help young Jack Sparrow at all….

Bill finally sighed, deeply, and he put an arm around the lad's thin, bony shoulders, "Well, bucko, I know just what ye need…. It'll at least take your mind off o' what ye left behind… "

Jack straightened his leather tricorn over his unruly mop of hair, and sighed, as well… he doubted it.

۞

Jack grimaced, and then gasped for air, as the burning sensation went from the back of his throat clear down to his ribs, and it seemed to set his whole body on fire! The dark main room of the Faithful Bride spun around for several seconds, and his companions laughed as the young man's face turned a bright crimson to match the gypsy bandanna that he wore.

Bill was watching him closely, and small beads of sweat broke out on Jack's face, but the boy, to his credit, finally took a huge breath and said, "Arright, bring it on! I've sailed th' Seven Seas an' several lakes, an' some of 'em are bloody cold! This warms a man right up, aye? "

As the night wore on, the room spun even more to Jack's bleary eyes, but it wasn't all too unpleasant… The lights began to melt into buttery yellow pools, and the bottle became so naturally fit into the curve of his long, elegant fingers that he finally began to smile… the contents of the bottle burned, that it did, but it tasted sweet… so sweet…

He hiccupped, and Bill began to chuckle as Jack reared back his head, and began to sing a particularly odd rendition of "Greensleeves" and as he did, he nearly tipped his chair over backwards, "Alas, my love, ye do me wrong…"

Suddenly Jack sat straight up and growled, "Nay, she never did me wrong! *hic!* She has no control… I mean 'control' o'er her *hic!* sitoowayshum… her sitchoo… her… *hic!*… pweedickament!" He put the bottle to his lips and took another drink, his expressive brown eyes crossing a little as he tried to read a label on the bottle, at the same time.

"Ooo… *hic*… ow…" Jack rubbed his eyes with his free hand, and Bill said, quietly, "Ye should maybe slow down a little, lad… ye're not used to drinking like this, and…"

Jack raised a finger, and Bill grinned at him, "I may not be used t' dwinkin' like this, NOW, but *hic!* its never too late t' learn…"

And with that, Jack blearily took one more long pull from the bottle of what he was now considering a sweet nectar of the gods, and he considered putting his head down on the tabletop… but not before he kept his consciousness for one more moment…

As a small band of sailors struck up a sprightly hornpipe, young Jack Sparrow finally looked up at Bootstrap Bill Turner, and slurred, "Nor is it too late t' keep me lass' spirit from bein' crushed under, Bill… I'll go back t' Ireland, mark my *hic!* word… an' I'll take her away from it all! But fer tonight… thank ye…"

And he put his head down on a thin arm, and passed out. Bill sighed, again, and put Jack's coat over his shoulders… he was down for the count, only now and then hiccupping into the scarred tabletop that matched the boy's deeply scarred right eyebrow…. But Bill was grateful that he was able to ease the lad's feelings of sadness and incompetence for a little while, on this rainy Tortuga night…

For he knew that Jack was always good on his promises, even if he took the long way around fulfilling them. He would keep his young woman's spirit from withering away… but for tonight, Jack Sparrow had been introduced to sweetness of another kind simply to ease his sore heart… and he had handled his very first round of partaking in the wonders of Caribbean rum pretty well for a the skinny little thing that he was…

Bill sat back in his own chair, and let the night wear on… and he chuckled when his companion began so snore along to the raucous music played by the pirate band……

_To be continued…._


End file.
